


not shy, not me

by BabyVillanelle



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Blow Jobs, M/M, Mark Lee (NCT) is Whipped, Pining, Pretty Nakamoto Yuta, Rowing, kissing in the boathouse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:42:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26018974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BabyVillanelle/pseuds/BabyVillanelle
Summary: There are a lot of things that Mark loves about being on the crew team. He loves his teammates, he loves how strong his body feels now, and he loves traveling for competitions, the adrenaline he gets on the bus ride, that rush when they cross the finish line.He loves it all, the rhythmic click of the oar lock, the way the boat cuts through the water, smooth and clean. He doesn’t even mind the early morning workouts. If anything, he likes the way his body aches after a good practice. Plus, he’s buff now.There’s just one thing that’s been jacking up his anxiety, has him biting his nails during his 2:45 econ class:Nakamoto Yuta.
Relationships: Mark Lee/Nakamoto Yuta
Comments: 22
Kudos: 333





	not shy, not me

“Yuta’s just like that.” 

There are a lot of things that Mark loves about being on the crew team. He loves his teammates, he loves how strong his body feels now, and he loves traveling for competitions, the adrenaline he gets on the bus ride, that rush when they cross the finish line. 

He’d tried out during orientation his freshman year and had made the cut. Even his parents were happy for him, if a little confused. He’d never really been into sports before. He’d played a little bit of everything in high school, basketball, soccer, even baseball, but nothing had really stuck. He doesn’t know how to explain to them how good it feels to be out on the water at sunrise, working together with your boat, arms pumping in tandem, propelling you forward. 

He loves it all, the teamwork, the rhythmic click of the oar lock, the way it feels when the boat cuts through the water, smooth and clean. He doesn’t even mind the early morning workouts. If anything, he likes the way his body aches after a good practice. Plus, he’s buff now. 

He arrived at college still looking like a stringy high schooler, but now when he walks across campus, he sees people noticing him. He can’t deny that it feels good. 

There’s just one thing that’s been jacking up his anxiety, has him biting his nails during his 2:45 econ class. 

Nakamoto Yuta is a senior, one of the three team captains, and he’s the worst thing that’s ever happened to Mark Lee. 

Okay, maybe that’s dramatic. He’s a good guy, really. Or Mark’s pretty sure he is. He’s nice to the other guys, and he’s a really good coxswain.

That’s really where Mark’s problems began, when he got put into Yuta’s boat. 

Mark might be buff now, but he’s not the biggest guy in their eight-man boat. That would be Lucas, who sits two people behind Mark. Mark’s in the stroke seat, right up front, which means he’s face to face with Yuta. Every day. 

Last week, he tried to explain his situation to his roommate, but Donghyuck didn’t seem to get why Mark was so distressed. 

“Dude, he’s a foot and a half away from me  _ all the time _ ,” he whined, his face pressed into his pillow. Donghyuck sat on the other side of their cinderblock room, scrolling through his phone, barely listening to Mark. 

“So?” 

“So he’s  _ awful.” _

“Sit up, Mark,” Donghyuck chastised, “I can’t hear you when your face is in the pillow.”

Mark sat up and threw a dirty look towards his roommate, who was still deliberately not looking at him. 

“Why’s he awful?” Donghyuck asked, grabbing a handful of Triscuits from the box in his lap and stuffing them all in his mouth at once. 

“I thought you said you couldn’t hear me,” Mark pointed out. Donghyuck ignored him, “Fine. I don’t know. He’s just- He says really filthy shit all the time?”

“Mmhm,” Donghyuck said, mouth still full of Triscuits. 

“And. Uh,” Mark swallowed, “He’s really hot.”

“Ahhh,” Donghyuck said, finally looking up at Mark and nodding, “Now it all makes sense.” 

“So will you help me?” Mark begged. Donghyuck was unmoved. 

“No.” 

Mark pouted and Donghyuck stared at him. Finally, he rolled his eyes. 

“Fine. Have you tried...uh,” Donghyuck thought hard for a moment, “Sucking his dick?” 

“Aieee!!!” Mark threw a pillow across the room at Donghyuck, who dodged it easily, then went back for more Triscuits. 

“It was just a suggestion,” Donghyuck said, licking his fingers salaciously.

Mark flopped back on his bed. 

“Were you even listening to me!” he howled, “He doesn’t like me  _ like that.  _ I think he knows that I, um, I-”

“Want him to rail you?” Donghyuck said blandly, flicking through Instagram with his middle finger. 

“Nooooo,” Mark said, blushing furiously. He covered his face with his hands, “I mean. Yes. Just. Don’t say it like that!! I think he knows, and he’s messing with me.” 

“Have you considered,” Donghyuck paused, “That he’s just flirting with you? You know, like a regular person?”

Mark was silent for a long moment. He hadn’t considered that, no. But it wasn’t possible. Mark was a sophomore. He was barely nineteen and new to the team and kind of an idiot. He was always late to practice, and the coach was always making him do extra workouts to make up for it. He had friends on the team but nobody that he really hung out with outside of practice and team dinners. 

He was just nervous, awkward Mark. And Yuta was… Yuta. Definitely not a regular person. 

Yuta was gorgeous. The easy, messy kind of gorgeous that made Mark weak because the very concept had always eluded him. He always had to try, really hard, when he wanted to look good. Yuta looked good all the time. 

They all had to wear spandex to row, but Yuta went that extra mile, always in these little black compression shorts and oversized t-shirts that he tied in a knot at his hip. 

He’d bleached his hair for the summer, and it was growing out now, almost down to his ears, his black roots showing. Recently, he’s taken to wearing it in a messy ponytail and holding back the stray hairs with a headband. 

Every day at afternoon practice, Yuta runs the workouts for their boat, calling out orders while the rest of them run laps or lift weights. 

As the cox, he has to stay light, so his own workouts are less intense. So when Mark is sweating and bench-pressing fifty, eighty, a hundred pounds, Yuta is on the other side of the gym, jogging leisurely on the treadmill. Sometimes he catches Mark’s eye in the mirror and winks before lifting his shirt up to wipe sweat off of his face. 

The first time he’d done that, Mark had almost dropped a twenty-five pound weight on Jaehyun’s foot because he’d caught a glimpse of Yuta’s belly button piercing and his brain had gone offline. When he’d looked back up after apologizing profusely to Jaehyun, Yuta had been laughing at him, his eyes all pretty and crinkled. 

Yeah. Yuta was an issue. 

* * *

It’s hot, far hotter than it should be for the end of October, and Mark is already sticky with sweat by the time they get in the boat. Yuta smiles at him from the cox seat. 

“Hi Markie,” Yuta says cheerfully, looking at Mark over his sunglasses, his arms splayed over the bow of the boat like some kind of sporty siren. Mark gulps, “I bet Taeil twenty bucks that we could beat him, so you’re gonna have to be real good for me today, okay?” 

Mark suddenly cannot remember a single word he’s ever learned. He opens his mouth, closes it, feels his cheeks turning pink while Yuta smiles up at him. 

He’s saved from having to think of a response by their coach, who starts shouting directions from the skiff. 

They’re not going far today, just a quick 5k up the river that flows near campus. Mark grips, regrips his oar, looking at his hands so he doesn’t watch Yuta like a creep as he works his long fingers through his hair undoes and re-does his little ponytail. 

Once they get out into open water, Yuta goes into full captain mode, and the real trouble for Mark begins. His command style is a strange mix of sexual innuendo and swearing like an old sailor. Today he starts off by counting their strokes, then he resumes his regular chant of “GIVE IT TO ME,” interspersed with the occasional “LENGTHEN.” 

Mark can’t ever tell what anyone else on the boat is thinking. All he can see is Yuta, who is currently screaming, “GRIP IT, SUH, I KNOW YOU CAN DO BETTER THAN THAT.” Mark can tell he’s enjoying this, a slight smirk playing over his face. 

The strangest part about it is that it works, even on Mark. 

After a few minutes, he gets into the mindset that Johnny calls “the zone”, where all he can feel is his arm muscles working in time with his teammates, and all he can hear is Yuta’s voice. 

They win, beating Taeil by a whole boat length, and Yuta is ecstatic, cheering for them at the top of his lungs. 

When they get out of the boats, Mark is dripping with sweat, but Yuta wraps his arms around him anyway, rocking him from side to side. Mark just stands there, his arms by his side, not sure what to do. Yuta nuzzles his nose into the side of Mark’s head. 

“You smell good,” he says with a terrifying smile, his eyes big and innocent. Mark swallows. 

“Th-thanks?” he stammers. Yuta just smiles wider. He pinches Mark’s cheek and ruffles his hair, and then he’s gone, leaving Mark standing by the boathouse. 

* * *

The next afternoon, Mark is napping between classes when Donghyuck shoves his phone in his face. 

“This your man?” Donghyuck asks him. Mark sits up, squeezing one eye shut and peering at the phone. 

It’s an article from the school newspaper, an interview with the captains of the crew team. Donghyuck has Yuta’s section highlighted. Mark skims through most of the questions until he gets to “What inspires you when you’re on the water?” and has to control his breathing because Yuta’s answer is; _ Mark Lee! He’s in my stroke seat, so he’s all I can see when we’re racing. I’m lucky he’s so easy on the eyes. He has the sweetest smile. _

“Wh-what the fuck?” Mark asks, gripping the phone in his sweaty hands and looking pleadingly up at Donghyuck, who just shrugs, sliding the phone from Mark’s clammy grip and wiping it on his pants. 

“I dunno dude,” Donghyuck says, “This guy sounds like a fuckin simp for you, my friend.”  “What do I do?” Mark begs. 

“Talk to him,” Donghyuck says plainly, like it's obvious. 

* * *

Mark doesn’t talk to him. 

It’s gotten bad enough that the other guys have noticed too. In the gym on Tuesday, Mark benches one-fifty and Yuta, with his hair in that damn ponytail again, leans over him, 

“You’re almost strong enough to lift me, baby.” 

There’s the loud clang of the weight as Mark drops it back into place. He blinks up at Yuta, the blood pounding in his ears. Yuta just scrunches his nose up at him. 

“Yuta, leave him alone,” Johnny says, playfully. 

Yuta just shrugs, grabbing his strawberry smoothie from the ground and takes a sip, grinning around the straw. Johnny watches him go, then hangs his head, chuckling.

“You know he’s joking, right?” Johnny asks with genuine concern on his face, and Mark flushes, “He’ll stop if it makes you uncomfortable.” 

“Oh,” Mark says, shifting on the bench, “I don’t-I mean, he doesn’t have to. It’s fine. I’m not like- You know. It’s fine.” 

Johnny laughs again. 

“Okay, dude,” he says, “Wanna spot me?” 

Twenty minutes later, Mark benches one seventy-five. Johnny announces the weight to the room and when Mark sits up, breathing hard, his eyes find Yuta, who blows him a kiss from the stair machine. 

* * *

On Friday, Mark beats his own time on the rowing machine and Yuta kisses him sloppily on the forehead. Everyone laughs, but Mark’s so hopped up on adrenaline that all he can think about is sliding his hands into Yuta’s hair and kissing him for real. He’s breathing hard and sweat is dripping into his eyes, and he looks up at Yuta, and for a second, Yuta seems to be the one who’s flustered for once. But then it’s gone and Yuta’s smirking again, smoothing Mark’s damp hair off of his forehead. 

“Good job, Markie,” he says, low and soft. 

* * *

That night, while Donghyuck is still studying at the library, Mark tosses and turns under his covers, playing that moment back over and over again. He imagines kissing Yuta, imagines wrapping his arms around Yuta and picking him up, pinning him against the wall just to see the look on his face. 

When he can’t stand it anymore, he wraps a hand around himself. When he comes, he hears Yuta’s awful, teasing voice in his ear, 

_ Good job, Markie. Give it to me, Mark.  _

* * *

Mark starts to get used to the attention, to expect it. The second week of October, they win first place in a tournament and Yuta makes Mark carry him all the way back to the bus on his back. Mark’s legs are aching and he’s sweaty and boneless from the race, but he likes the way Yuta’s thighs feel clamped around his hips so he stays quiet. On the bus ride home, Yuta slumps into the seat next to him and threads their fingers together. He ignores him otherwise, leaning across the aisle to talk to Johnny, but his hand stays. Mark thinks about tugging his hand away, but the pressure kind of feels nice, so he lets it slide. 

* * *

The next day they have a team meeting in the locker room after practice, and Yuta sneaks up behind him, wrapping his arms around Mark’s waist. After a few minutes, Yuta gets bored. Mark can tell because he starts picking at him, drumming his fingers against Mark’s stomach, digging his chin into Mark’s shoulder. Then Yuta fucking  _ bites him,  _ just sinks his teeth right into the side of Mark’s neck and the kicker is that Mark doesn’t even register it as strange until he catches Lucas staring at them, open mouthed. 

Mark’s blood goes cold. He straightens up suddenly, pushing Yuta off of him. He steps away, his cheeks burning, and doesn’t look back to see Yuta’s reaction. He feels exposed, vulnerable, and he hates it. Hates Yuta, for a moment, for making him feel like that. 

When the meeting’s over he’s the first one out the door, and he’s halfway up the hill back to campus when he realizes he doesn’t have his keycard to get back into his building, that he’s left it in the pocket of his windbreaker, which is still in the boathouse. 

He turns on his heel and trudges back down past the athletic center, and down the short rocky path that leads to the water. He’s walking faster than he needs to be, irritation still hurrying him along. He’s pissed, a little at Yuta but mostly at himself. For forgetting his jacket. For forgetting that Yuta was just playing a game. A game. A mean, shitty “how red can I get Mark Lee to turn” game that Yuta wins, every time. 

He’s so irritated that he doesn’t even notice the door to the boathouse is unlocked, and then suddenly, there is Yuta. Pretty and barefoot and smiling uncertainly at Mark. 

“Hey,” he says, cautiously, “You okay?” 

It’s more subdued than Yuta’s ever been with him, and it makes Mark’s cheeks burn to have Yuta see through him like that, to know that he was upset. This is how Yuta makes him feel, all the time. Like the exposed, cracked-open skin on the palms of his hands from gripping the oars. He hasn’t developed callouses yet, so they’re still raw, pink and stinging. 

“Yep,” he says, avoiding Yuta and looking around for his windbreaker. He spots it, crumpled in a heap on the floor, and dodges around Yuta to get it, turning his body sideways and leaning backwards to avoid any accidental contact. 

“Are you mad at me?” Yuta asks, and Mark ignores him. He realizes too late that that’s an answer, too. Yuta sounds distressed, genuinely sorry, when he says, “ _ Mark _ . Did I make you uncomfortable?” 

Mark’s so embarrassed, frozen stiff with it. He hates this. 

“ _ No _ ,” he says, rushed, he needs to explain this, at least, that he’s not some uptight straight boy, “It’s not that.” 

“Then what is it?” Yuta asks. 

“It’s a joke,” Mark manages to get out.

“What is?” Yuta asks. 

“You! Messing with me all the time!” 

He’s half shouting now, his voice squeakier than he’d like, and Yuta’s looking at him with his head tilted in confusion. 

“It’s a joke to you, I get it. It’s funny. ‘Make Mark nervous’.  _ I’m _ funny. I’m not stupid, okay? I know I’m awkward, and I say stuff weird and dumb shit makes me jumpy, but like, it just sucks cause, uh-” 

Mark tugs on his lanyard, feels the weight of it on his neck. He swallows. He doesn’t look at Yuta. 

“Because why, Mark?”

“ _ Because it’s not a fucking joke to me _ !” 

He wraps a hand around his keys, squeezing until he can feel the metal ridges press into his skin. He looks at Yuta now and he’s watching Mark carefully, his eyes wide and his chin tilted down.

“You, me,” he tries to explain, lamely, gesturing between them, “That’s not a joke to me.” 

“And you assumed it is to me because...?” Yuta asks, plainly. It’s a total shock to Mark’s system. He feels his whole body shut down and reboot. He opens his mouth, closes it again, and Yuta’s face  _ crumples _ , 

“ _ Oh _ , sweetheart, I’m sorry. Come here.” 

Mark looks at him, golden and barefoot, hair sticking up in frizzy humidity curls. He goes. 

“Let me be a little clearer, mm?” Yuta asks. He waits, and Mark nods. And then he’s kissing him. It’s the best kiss Mark’s ever had in his short life, and Yuta pulls away far too soon. Mark’s left reaching for him.

“Does that feel like a joke to you?” 

“Uh,” Mark says. His brain is melting out of his ears, “No?” 

“I thought-” Mark tries to say, but Yuta’s kissing him again, sucking on his bottom lip, dipping his tongue into his mouth, and he can’t finish his sentence, or even his thought, until Yuta’s kissing his cheek, his jaw, his ear, “I thought,  _ ah _ , you were just like this.” 

Yuta shakes his head, presses his lips against Mark’s jugular. When he speaks, he’s so close, voice so low Mark can feel it vibrating in his own throat. 

“ _ Just for you _ ,” he says, and Mark groans. He can’t help it. He’s been standing there, letting Yuta kiss him, but now he grabs Yuta back, fist tangled in his t-shirt, and Yuta lights up. 

Yuta kisses  _ dirty,  _ messy and devouring. Mark’s never felt this much want directed at him before, never had somebody he liked this much want him back. 

_ Wow, this is crazy,  _ his smooth brain supplies.

Yuta walks them backwards, until they’re hidden from the door by a row of boats. He cages Mark up against a wall and it’s all he can do to just hang on. His hands fumble clumsily around Yuta’s body until he grabs hold of his skinny hips. Yuta responds beautifully, pushing his body into Mark’s hands, and Mark has to see, has to touch for himself. He rucks up Yuta’s shirt roughly, because he knows Yuta will let him and he doesn’t have the fine motor skills to be gentle right now. 

Mark runs his calloused hands all over Yuta’s chest, his skin soft and hot and smooth. He pushes Yuta back, just so he can see what he’s touching. He sees the belly-button piercing and the tenuous connection between his brain and his mouth snaps. 

“Haha, wow.” 

Yuta’s a blessing because he doesn’t laugh, just smiles fondly. 

“Can I, uh..?”

Yuta does giggle now, but it’s kind. 

“Use your words,” he says, teasing. 

“Can I touch it?” 

Yuta hisses, 

“Yeah, baby,” he says, “You can do anything you want to me, Mark.” 

Images of Yuta on his knees, Yuta in Mark’s bed, Yuta bouncing in Mark’s lap, one hand wrapped around Mark’s throat-

“Oh,” Mark says, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth, “Sweet.” 

Whatever Yuta expects him to do next, Mark can tell it’s not what he does, which is drop to his knees and press open-mouthed kisses all over Yuta’s stomach. 

“Oh shit,  _ Mark _ ,” Yuta gasps, his fingernails scratching against Mark’s scalp, “You really wanted this, didn’t you?” 

And it’s embarrassing, Yuta makes him so  _ embarrassed,  _ drives him so fucking crazy. He sucks a wet, sloppy kiss right above the waistband of those stupid black spandex shorts. Yuta’s hard, and hot, and Mark feels wild, feral, is ready to pull those fucking cursed shorts off and choke himself on Yuta’s cock until Yuta shuts the  _ fuck up  _ for a minute. 

But Yuta stops him, pulls him back up to standing. Mark looks at him, confused and wild, can feel his mouth open, knows he’s panting like a dumb fucking dog, but he can’t stop. 

“Thought you said - ,” Mark gasps, “ - whatever I wanted?” 

He’s still trying to get into Yuta’s pants, his lizard brain only wanting one thing. He’s got one whole hand down the front of Yuta’s pants, is cupping Yuta’s cock, squeezing at it, when Yuta stops him again. 

“Yes, baby,” Yuta says, and he sounds put together, and that pisses Mark off a little, wants to wreck him like Yuta’s been wrecking him for weeks, “But I think I made you wait long enough, hm? Let me make it up to you.” 

And then Yuta’s fingers are undoing the string on his sweatpants, pulling them down, reaching in and pulling Mark’s cock out. Yuta gets on his knees like he’s thrilled to do it, presses kisses to Mark’s cock like it’s something precious. 

Mark can no longer function at all. His brain is actually just play-doh, now, being squeezed out of his ears. 

And Nakamoto Yuta’s mouth is on his dick. 

Yuta moans around him, slurping like Mark’s the best thing he’s ever tasted. Yuta sucks dick like he kisses, like he directs their boat, like he does everything, with intense and direct focus. 

Yuta pulls off of him, and with that same focus, he gathers his hair up with one hand and pulls the hair elastic on his other wrist off with his teeth. Mark blinks rapidly, trying to make his eyes focus so he can remember this exact image for the rest of his life. Yuta sees him watching and grins, all lopsided and wicked. Mark’s stomach drops. 

Yuta is definitely some kind of dick-wizard and he’s cursed Mark forever because he can’t imagine anything ever being this hot again. 

When Yuta puts his mouth on him again he lasts approximately fifteen more seconds before he’s coming with an embarrassingly loud groan. 

Yuta swallows all of it, before giving him a crooked, silly smile that makes Mark feel like a marshmallow Peep that’s been put in the microwave. 

Yuta stands, tucking Mark’s dick back into his sweatpants and kissing him on the cheek. Mark can’t feel any of his bones. Does he have bones? He can’t remember. All he knows is Yuta is stroking his hair and his lips are wet and pink and Mark feels really really  _ good  _ and safe. 

“Go out with me?” Mark asks breathlessly. Yuta smiles again, a real, genuinely happy smile. 

“Anything you want, Markie.” 

**Author's Note:**

> this one's for my fiancee, who rowed in college - all the sports facts™ are from her !! 
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/bloombloompowie)


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